Chapter Forty

NICHOLAS’S HEAD JERKED BACK. “Your father?”

“I need to get out of the hotel before he comes for me.”

Nicholas passed a hand over his mouth. “Then you aren’t leaving because of me?”

“Of course not.” She wiped a tear away. “But if you don’t get away from that door, I’m going to remove you.”

He lifted his hands. “Let me help you. Tell me what happened.”

“There’s nothing you can do.” She pushed past him and opened the door. “I saw my father. I don’t think he saw me, but if he did, he’ll come after me. He’ll find my mother. I need to go to the airport.”

“Slow down.” He caught her elbow. “Where’s your mother now?”

“Recife.”

“Are you sure it was your father?”

“I saw his face. And the ring he always wore.”

Nicholas led her into the hall. “You can call your mother on a secure line. I’ll arrange to move her to safety.”

“You can do that?” Acacia sniffled and wished she had a tissue.

He touched his lips to her forehead. “We’ll move her temporarily, until we decide what to do next.

“No matter who your father is, he won’t make a move inside the hotel. I’ll arrange for additional security. I’ll notify hotel security as well.”

Acacia pulled on his arm. “If you raise the alarm with the hotel, he’ll find out.”

Nicholas surveyed her tears. “I’ll speak with my security team, and we’ll come up with an alternative.”

As they approached the staircase, Acacia caught sight of Kurt.

His eyes were alert. He followed Nicholas and Acacia down the stairs and into the media room that had become a security hub.

As soon as Nicholas entered the room, Wen and Rick stood at attention. “Wen, I need a secure line. Acacia is going to call Brazil.”

Nicholas guided her to a low couch. He pulled her handbag and tote from her shoulders and placed them next to her.

He withdrew a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. Tenderly, he wiped her face.

“You need a drink.” He deposited the silk into her hand. “I’ll be right back.

“Rick, come with me.”

The bodyguard stepped forward, his eyes narrowed at Acacia. She ignored him, her mind racing.

Rick and Nicholas walked across the hall in the direction of the dining room. Acacia heard them talking, but couldn’t make out the words.

Kurt stood in the doorway and looked over his shoulder, as if determining Nicholas and Rick’s location. He approached the couch. “I had to tell him. I work for him.”

Acacia nodded and clutched the handkerchief.

Kurt crouched down in front of her. “I wouldn’t have let anyone get near you. My job is to keep you safe. Understand?”

“I understand,” she replied dully.

“But you have to disclose any and all threats to us. We can handle surprises, but we don’t like them. Neither does the boss.” Seeming satisfied, Kurt returned to his position in the doorway and watched for his employer’s return.

Wen handed her a phone and addressed her in English. “This line is secure. Do you know the number?”

She nodded. She dialed with trembling fingers.

When her mother answered, Acacia breathed a sigh of relief. Immediately, she switched to Portuguese. “Mãe? Where are you right now?”

“I’m in bed,” her mother answered, sounding sleepy. “What time is it?”

“It doesn’t matter. Listen, Mãe, you have to get up. I saw him.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “What did you say?”

“Him, Mãe. I saw him. I don’t know if he saw me, but I can’t take that chance. You have to get up and pack a bag.”

Acacia heard the rustle of bedclothes.

“Where are you?” her mother asked.

Acacia shut her eyes tightly. “Dubai.”

“Dubai?” her mother shouted. “What are you doing in Dubai?”

“I’m here with a friend. We’ve arranged for someone to come and get you. They’ll take you to a safe place.”

“You stupid girl! You knew better than to go to that part of the world. Are you crazy? Now we have to start all over again.” Her mother swore.

Acacia stifled a sob. “I’m sorry, Mamãe.”

Nicholas stood over her and gestured to the phone.

Acacia handed it over.

“Mrs. Santos, this is Nicholas Cassirer.” He spoke in English.

Acacia overheard her mother replying in English.

“I’m Acacia’s boyfriend. Pack a bag and be ready to leave your apartment in less than an hour. I’m sending someone to get you. You can ask him for the password. The password is Santorini.” Nicholas’s eyes met Acacia’s.

She heard her mother haranguing Nicholas in a mixture of Portuguese and English.

“Mrs. Santos,” he interjected, “you need to get ready now. Take everything you value with you, including your passport. Call me at this number if there’s a problem.”

He waited for her acquiescence.

Acacia heard her mother agree tersely before hanging up.

Nicholas pulled the device from his ear and frowned. He handed it off to Wen before he retrieved a drink from a nearby table.

“You look like you need this.” He placed the glass in Acacia’s hands. “I’ll make another.”

She sipped the vodka and tonic gratefully as her mother’s curses echoed in her ears.

Acacia opened her eyes.

She looked up at the canopy that hung over Nicholas’s bed. Confused, she turned to her side; Nicholas watched her from a nearby armchair.

He’d removed his suit jacket and tie and rolled up the sleeves of shirt. His expression was subdued, his eyes wary. “How are you feeling?”

“Disoriented.” She sat up and noticed she’d shed her green jacket, but was still in her dress and stockings. “What time is it?”

“It’s after five.”

“I’ve been asleep for two hours?”

“Yes.” He crossed over to the bed and sat next to her. “You were in shock. Your adrenaline crashed, and you fell asleep on the couch downstairs.”

“Maybe it was the vodka and tonic.” Acacia rubbed her head. “You didn’t give me something, did you?”

“Certainly not.” His temper flared. “I admit the drink was strong, but you needed it. You were shaking like a leaf.”

She lifted her head. “My mother.”

“She’s in a safe house in Manaus. She’s fine.”

“Can I speak to her?”

Nicholas frowned. “You could, but I wouldn’t recommend it. She isn’t in the best of moods at the moment.”

Acacia brought the heels of her hands to her eyes. Her mother blamed her for what had happened. She’d never forgive her.

“I put her life at risk by coming here,” she groaned.

“Nonsense. How could you have known he would be here?”

“We avoided this part of the world intentionally. I knew better.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Acacia picked at the sheets. “What about your meeting with Constantine’s contact? Did you go back?”

“Don’t worry about it. How do you feel?”

“Drained. Upset.” She brushed the sleep from her eyes.

“I need to tell you a few things.” Nicholas’s tone was grave. “Are you feeling up to it?”

She nodded.

“My team made inquiries, and you’re correct; the man you saw is Omar Zaid Hirzalla.”

A feeling of horror rose in Acacia’s chest. “Is he here now?”

“No. I’m told he left the airport in a private plane about an hour ago. Apparently, he’s flying to Morocco.” Nicholas pried her fingers from the sheet. “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“For shouting at you. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

His gaze dropped to their hands. “I thought you were leaving me.”

“I was trying to escape him.”

“Next time, let me help.”

She set her teeth. “There won’t be a next time. I don’t ever want to be that close to him again.”

Nicholas’s eyes lingered on hers before they lowered to the large, azure globes around her neck. “You weren’t wearing those at the meeting.”

“No.” Instinctively, her hand covered the necklace. Her hamsa pendant swung from her wrist.

“You stopped to take my gift with you?”

She changed the subject. “Were you able to reschedule your meeting?”

His expression tightened. He shook his head.

“Nicholas, I’m so sorry. Were you able to get any information at all?”

“We’d barely begun.”

“Oh, no.”

Nicholas lifted a shoulder. “In life there are detours.”

Acacia winced. Nicholas couldn’t hide his disappointment. It was evident in his eyes and on his face. “You gave up your chance to find your family’s paintings because Kurt told you I was leaving?”

Nicholas didn’t answer. The searing intensity of his gaze was its own response.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“When you’re feeling up to it, I’d like you to tell me how a Brazilian concierge ended up related to a Jordanian arms dealer.”

Acacia leaned back against the pillows.

Nicholas was conflicted; that much was obvious. Clearly he was upset about what had happened to her. But there was a hint of censure in his voice she didn’t like.

“I don’t like things hanging over my head,” she said heatedly.

“Nor do I,” he challenged.

“Fine.” She fixed him with a defiant look. “The story is simple. I was born in Jordan to a Brazilian mother and a Jordanian father. My mother converted to Islam when she married my father.”

“I take it Acacia Santos isn’t your real name.”

“No. My name is Hanin. Hanin Hirzalla.”

“Hanin.” Nicholas pronounced her name as if it were a caress.

“It means longing or yearning in Arabic.”

“It suits you.”

She looked down at the sheets. Nicholas was from an old and prominent European Jewish family. She had been worried about how he’d react to the revelation that she was Muslim. But he seemed untroubled. And the way he pronounced her birth name…

“We lived in Amman until I was ten, and then my mother took me and fled. I haven’t seen my father since.”

“If you hadn’t seen him in so many years, how did you recognize him?”

“I know what my father looks like. Besides, the man downstairs was wearing the same signet ring he always wore.”

“So you fled Jordan and went to Brazil?”

“That’s right.”

Nicholas smoothed the wrinkles from his suit trousers. “Why are you afraid of him?”

She lifted her hair and exposed her scar.

“That’s reason enough.” Nicholas’s eyes met hers. “Is there more?”

“He sent a man to Brazil to kidnap me when I was fifteen. But by that time, I had enough martial arts training to get away.”

Nicholas’s eyebrows shot up. “What happened?”

Acacia looked at the floor. “We were living in Rio. I was on my way home from school. Someone grabbed me and started speaking in Arabic about my father. He didn’t expect me to fight, so I surprised him.”

Nicholas chuckled. But when he saw Acacia’s expression, he sobered. “I’m sorry. It isn’t funny. But there’s something wondrous about the thought of you beating up a grown man when you were a teenager.”

“My mother and I had to leave everything behind and flee Rio for Recife. We had to change identities. Again.” Acacia tugged at her hair. “That isn’t the worst of it.”

“What is?” Nicholas whispered.

“My father sold bomb-making materials to the people who bombed Damascus in 1986. They killed civilians.”

Nicholas blinked. “That wasn’t in the dossier I was provided.”

“You have a dossier on him?”

“Once you gave me his name, I had Wen reach out to some allies. The dossier said your father is a wealthy Jordanian businessman who travels a lot, doing business all over the Near East and North Africa. It’s widely known he’s an arms dealer, but no one has been able to tie him to a specific terrorist attack or incursion.”

“Try the March 1986 bombing of Damascus. He admitted it to my mother, along with supplying materials for the April bombings.”

Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. “If you were ten years old in 1986, then you can’t be thirty-five.”

“We didn’t know about the bombings until years later, just before I turned ten. By that time, he was trading arms all over the region. He’d kept his activities secret from us, but my mother found out.

“When we fled to Rio, we adopted new identities and changed our birth dates. I’m thirty-seven.” She fanned a hand over her forehead. “Where did you say my mother was?”

“At a safe house in Manaus. She’s in the care of a former CIA agent. You can speak to her again tomorrow.” He paused, his brow wrinkled. “In the dossier, you and your mother are recorded as deceased.”

“How good is your intelligence?”

He adjusted the rolled sleeves of his black shirt. “Let’s just say I have friends in America.”

Acacia’s stomach flipped. “Please tell me you didn’t give them our names.”

“Of course not.” Nicholas’s eyebrows knitted together. “Your father is the person of interest. Let me add that our American friends were grateful for my report. They’ve been tracking your father for some time.”

Acacia’s hands went into her hair. She rocked back and forth and tugged.

“Don’t.” Nicholas’s hands covered hers. “You’re hurting yourself.”

She allowed him to unwind her fingers from her hair and lower her hands to the mattress. “The CIA has my mother.”

“No.” Nicholas returned his hands to his knees. “I have your mother. The ex-agent and his team are simply the ones on the ground.”

“My father will find her.”

“No, he won’t. The extraction was done quickly and quietly.” Nicholas touched her hand. “I should tell you that there were death certificates in the dossier, one for you and one for your mother. Anyone who has access to the dossier will think you and your mother died long ago.”

“My father must have reported us dead after we fled.”

“The death certificates looked official. Your new identities are solid. My best people investigated you, and there wasn’t even a hint of your true background.”

“My mother bribed a government official in Rio. She cut ties with her friends and family in Minas Gerais before we left Jordan. We’ve never contacted them.”

Nicholas gave her a thoughtful look. “Your fingerprints aren’t linked to another identity.”

“I was so young when we went to Brazil, I hadn’t been fingerprinted. And then afterward, when we changed identities and moved to Recife, my mother bribed the same official.”

“I’m sure it was very confusing for you while you were growing up.”

“Hatred is the only thing I find confusing.”

“You lied to me.” His voice was sad.

She pulled the sheets back and swung her legs to the floor. “I lied to everyone. Just like you lied to me and the rest of the staff when you walked into Hotel Victoire.”

He watched her for a moment. “Now that we’re telling the truth, is there anything else I should know?”

“My mother found weapons in our apartment in Amman. When she confronted my father, he became violent.” Acacia gestured to where her scar was hidden beneath her hair. “I tried to protect her, and he beat both of us. He threatened to kill us if we told anyone about the weapons. My mother bided her time and was able to pay a man to smuggle us out of Jordan. We’ve been in hiding ever since.”

Nicholas’s face darkened. “He beat you?”

Acacia jerked her chin.

“You were ten years old.” Nicholas lowered his voice. “He beat you?”

“I have the scar to prove it.”

“Jesus,” he swore.

Slowly, he stood.

She remained perched on the edge of the bed. “If he finds me, he’ll find my mother. There are too many ties between us—emails, phone calls, money transfers.”

“You’re assuming he’d recognize you after all this time.”

“I can’t risk it.”

Nicholas made eye contact with her. He stepped closer. When she didn’t move away, his fingers sought her hair. He pushed back her curls and regarded her scar.

“I’ve dealt with arms dealers before. I’m not afraid of your father.”

“You should be.”

Nicholas withdrew his hand. “He’s no different from others I’ve encountered in the art world over the years. The question is, what do you want me to do about him?”

“Protect my mother.”

Nicholas half-smiled. “You didn’t even take time to think before answering. Your mother will remain in the safe house until we assess the threat. I’ve demanded updated intelligence on your father and his people. We’ll see what we find out. What do you want me to do for you?”

She hesitated.

“Acacia?”

She wrung her hands. “I’ll need a new identity.”

“You want to keep running?”

“No.” She clutched at her chest; the weight of her decision made it difficult to breathe. “I have no choice.”

“If you want a new identity, I can secure one for you. Wouldn’t you rather stand your ground? Keep the life you’ve worked so hard to build?”

“I may not have that luxury.” She inhaled slowly. Her eyes pled with him. “No matter what happens with us, promise me you’ll keep my secret.”

“Are you anticipating us parting ways?” His tone was cautious.

She ducked her head. “My father is a terrorist. I lied to you, about everything.”

Nicholas was silent for a few seconds. He lifted her chin. “Did you lie to me in bed?”

She blinked, confused. “No.”

“Did you lie when you said you cared for me? That we would be monogamous lovers, as well as friends?”

“Of course not.”

“When you said I had a noble soul?” he whispered.

“Your soul is noble.” Her voice wobbled.

“You thought I’d send you away because you and your mother ran away from your father?”

“I lied about who I am. I’m a Brazilian Jordanian Muslim, Nicholas.”

“You think I’d stop caring for you because you’re Muslim?” He shook his head. “Muslims and Jews have their differences, but we are not natural enemies. We live in peace in many parts of the world. You know that. You also know I am not a racist.”

“I know.” Acacia swallowed noisily.

“You knew I was Jewish probably from the moment Madame Bishop gave you my real name.”

“Of course. The Cassirers are a famous Jewish family from Germany.”

“So my religion wasn’t a barrier to your affection.”

“I don’t choose my lovers on the basis of their religion. I choose them on the content of their characters.” She sniffled.

“Then we are the same. Don’t you see? We have our differences, but we share the same ideals.

“Acacia, if a woman who’d been beaten by her husband came to me and asked for a new identity, I’d do anything I could to help. I’d be on the right side of justice in doing so. Of course your mother gave you a new identity when you were a child. She was protecting you.”

Acacia covered her mouth with both hands as years of emotions flooded her. The strain of keeping so many secrets finally gave way.

Nicholas wrapped her in his arms before the first tears fell.